Friendship Spreads Worse Than Infection
by DjDangerLove
Summary: When trying to outrun the man hunting them, Quill and Rocket embark on a journey of survival involving their usual banter, some injuries, and a revelation that Rocket can't swim. Aiming for a two-shot, but may end up as a three shot. Friendship story. Rated T mostly out of a few curses and paranoia.
1. Part One

Still just own an imagination and a heart that loves Guardians of the Galaxy.

* * *

**Friendship Spreads Worse Than Infection**

_Part One: Push Me Once, Shame on You. __Push Me Twice...Thank You_

Rocket's feet thunder against the pavement like his heart pounding against his ribcage and he dives underneath a low hanging branch just as the organ drops into his stomach at the sight of what is behind him.

"I'm gonna skin the two of you and I'm gonna start with the furry one! He's going to taste real nice!" an almost delirious voice shouts from behind them, and Rocket manages to catch Quill's gaze in between the trees that separate them from running side by side.

"Next time," Rocket grounds out in his out of breath state, "I get to take the shot!"

"Next time," Quill matches in a pant, "I get to decide who we steal from!"

"We're not stealing," Rocket argues as his foot slips against the ground and he stumbles in his haste. "We're taking back what was already ours which you lost in the first place!"

"I told you- shit!," Quill redirects as a bolt meant for him from a blaster races by him and into a nearby tree.

"Yeah, yeah, you didn't lose it, but you're going to lose a leg in a minute if you don't run faster," Rocket counters and darts to the left around a boulder jutting up from the ground just as another bolt blows it to bits. A piece catches him on the back and he arches at the sting of it and his back leg catches on a mound of dirt that sends him flipping down a slight embankment.

A fallen tree trunk puts an end to his spiral and he's trying to get the world to stop spinning when another blast splinters the end of the piece wood he's leaned against.

"Rolling down a hill doesn't count as running faster," Quill defends his slower pace as he suddenly slides next the raccoon and throws an arm around him before he's back to running.

"I got it. I got it," Rocket protests and pushes Peter's side that he's held against until the man slows down enough to drop him so that he can run on his own again. "This way!"

Quill makes a sharp turn, barely managing to duck as another bolt shoots across the distance between them and the man that wants to kill them and probably eat them, and follows Rocket's winding trail through the trees.

"Hey! You might as well get back here! You're gonna fall to your death anyway!" The man shouts before pulling the trigger of his blaster again. The shot goes too wide to even be considered one.

"What do you think he means by that?" Quill asks, turning around to see how far ahead they've gotten which isn't far enough.

"How the hell should I know? Come on!" Rocket yells over his shoulder, but as he turns back around he starts back pedaling, nails digging into and kicking up dirt as he tries to stop. "Quill!"

Peter turns back to the sound of his name and he starts locking his knees up in order to stop. His shoes slide against thick mud and he stumbles into Rocket pushing him forward with a curse caught in his throat. He reaches out, fingers grasping with desperation to catch the raccoon as his furry comrade teeters over the edge of a cliff with an eighty foot drop into a large body of murky water.

Rocket's arms swing out to side to counter his balance, but it's not enough. He slips over the edge just as Peter lunges to catch him.

Quill's breath escapes him as his chest slams into the ground, but he extends his arm over the side and finally manages to make purchase on a ringed tail.

Rocket lets out a yelp at the jerk, and swings wildly in a panic as he hangs in the air.

"Shit," Quill manages to force out while trying to catch his breath again and pull Rocket back up to safety. He scrambles backwards until Rocket is back on land and watches as he plants his feet in the dirt like a tree growing roots.

"Are you okay?" Quill gets to his feet but remains hunched over, hands on his knees as he regains his breath, and switches from checking on his teammate and looking for their enemy.

"I'm standing here aren't I?" Rocket shouts, but the way his ears bend back as he looks at the cliff tells Quill he's either about to see a brand new side of Rocket or he's going to get an ear full, but before he can find out a, "I told ya so! You're mine now!," echoes from the trees behind them followed by a crazed laugh.

Quill spins like a dog chasing its tail, looking for another way out, but either they keep running into an unknown forrest with who knows what in it until the guy corners and catches them, or, "Yeah, about that. We're gonna have to jump!"

"What? Are you insane?!," Rocket demands, hands coming up to grab at the fur above his eyes. "First, you push me off the cliff and then almost rip off my tail to catch me-"

"You're welcome by the way."

"Now you want to jump?"

"It beats ending up like Hansel and Gretel!"

"Who's Hansel and Gre-"

"Nevermind! We have to jump!"

"No," Rocket backpedals away from the edge even further, no longer caring about the man coming after them. "We wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't lost one of the Infinity Stones to begin with and missed the shot when Gamora stole it back, _and _let him take all of our weapons before he started chasing us because he thinks we have it!"

"Rocket," Quill deadpans and gives him a look that causes the raccoon to swallow thickly. "We. Have. To. Jump."

"I...I can't-"

"Why not?" Peter asks, moving forward enough so they're standing in front of one another again.

"Look, I'm not jumping."

"Dude, I'm not ev-"

"I can't swim!" Rocket shouts and the man's quick and heavy footsteps in the forrest crescendo in the silence that lingers and before Quill can respond he appears at the edge of the trees with a euphoric cackle.

"Oh, we're gonna have some fun tonight!"

Peter can feel his heart rattle in his chest and he wonders if this was how Rocket felt at the beginning of his existence, like a caged animal waiting for a hunter to stuff and mount him on the wall. He watches Rocket turn his head to snarl at the man and he glances back at the edge of the cliff behind them a few feet away in the distraction. He hears the man laugh again and he knows that if he survives, he's going hear that sound until his ears bleed.

Rocket hisses again as the man provokes him and Quill notices the muscles in the man's hand bulge as he tightens his grip on his weapon. But before the man can aim and Quill can even hope that this doesn't kill them both, Peter reaches out and shoves Rocket back over the side of the cliff. The raccoon gives a startled curse at the sudden change in direction, but it's drowned out by the sound of the man's blaster firing and before Quill can fully disappear over the edge as he follows after Rocket, he feels a sharp pain electrocute his calf.

Then, he smacks the murky water below.

* * *

It all comes back to him in one sharp jolt of pain and he sucks in a breath until water clogs his throat. He coughs once, but manages to keep his mouth closed until he can break the surface of the water. He chokes as he gasps for air and calls for Rocket all at the same time, but as he twists to find him, he comes up empty.

"Rocket," he calls again, before diving back under the water. He opens his eyes, but the water is too brown to even see his hand extended out in front of him.

He breaks the surface again, but this time with even more desperation than before.

"Rocket!," he yells again, and he tries to ignore the sound of his voice cracking in the echo created by the cliffs as he glances up to see that the man after them is gone, too.

He looks to the small shore, but it's empty of everything Quill's looking for and he dives back under the water again, eyes closed, but hands searching just the same until his lungs plead for air.

He grants it to them, but they have to fight for it as his throat tightens up like he's having an asthma attack, and he really starts to think he's having one because he can hear harsh breaths struggling in and out of a windpipe trying to sneak its way past water and it takes him all of five seconds to realize that it's not coming from him.

He twists in the water so quickly his back pops in that high-pitched crack underwater, but his mind isn't focused on anything but the raccoon thrashing in the water behind him.

"Rocket," he yells once more, but the animal disappears underneath the water again before he can even get the second syllable off his tongue. He swims as fast as he can, ignoring the burning sensation tearing at his leg, and sinks back under the water until he's got a furry being in his hands.

They both break the surface, but only one can take in air and Rocket's nails are shredding through the shoulder of Quill's shirt to let him know that it's not him.

"Rocket! Rocket, stop!" Quill shouts as he tries to hold his teammate at arms length so his skin doesn't become shredded like his shirt, but the raccoon swipes blindly at the air, choking on the water caught in his throat, and it isn't until he starts passing out from lack of oxygen that Peter can hold him in one hand and pat his back with the other, mindful of the new found gash underneath his right shoulder blade, to get the water to dislodge.

Rocket coughs weakly at best, but it does the trick as he continues to gag and hack until he can breathe again.

"That's it, buddy," Quill encourages while ceasing to pat Rocket's back in favor of tilting his head away as he vomits into the water. "Alright, don't puke on me. Keep your head that way."

Peter starts to tread back towards land, mostly so he's not swimming in raccoon spew, but also because his leg is burning like there's flames under water and he knows if he doesn't start swimming back to land now, they'll both drown.

Rocket coughs again and wipes a paw down his face while blinking wearily at Quill.

"You done?" Peter asks, but doesn't wait for a reply before ushering Rocket up onto his tattered t-shirt covered shoulder so he can swim them to shore. He feels a paw grasp a few strands of his hair, and he dips his mouth down into the water enough to hide the grimace it produces as he keeps swimming inland.

* * *

Before Quill can even stand, Rocket pounces onto the dry shore like a cat catching a bird, and falls heavily to the dirt, whether in exhaustion or relief, Peter can't be sure, but what he is certain of is the pain in his leg as he tries to stand up out of the water.

It shoots from his calf up the length of his leg and back down again like a pinball bouncing around in a game. He falters, falling forward but catching himself with his arms before he face plants, and semi-crawls onto shore.

"Quill?" Rocket's raspy voice asks as the man in question falls down beside him on his back.

"I'm good. I'm good," he assures as he does his best to ride out the pain in his limb.

"You got a hole in your leg," Rocket counters, and only when Peter can feel the sunlight being blocked from his face does he crack an eye open to see his half-drowned teammate staring at a disintegrated hole the size of a grapefruit, but not even an inch deep, in his leg.

"Yyyeah," Quill drawls out and lays his head back down after surveying the damage. "Bastard grazed me with his gun as I was jumping. The disease infested water we landed in hasn't helped either."

"Well..." Rocket breaks off as he eyes the wound for a second more then plops back down in the dirt beside Quill. "That's what you get for pushing me off a cliff. Not once, but twice!"

"I think what you mean to say is, 'Thank you for saving my life'."

"You know how you pitched a fit saying that blowing up Yondu's ship wasn't saving you when he captured you and Gamora? Well, throwing me off a cliff isn't saving me!"

Peter twists his face and turns his head to look at him. "Yes it is. That guy was going to kill us and you're very much alive as I can tell from the annoying anger quality of your voice as you shout at me for saving you."

"Where'd he go anyway?," Rocket ventures as a silent way of saying the thank you he just couldn't bring himself to voice.

"Hell if I know. Probably back to the gingerbread house."

"The what?" Rocket deadpans as he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the thought that maybe Quill's leg is worse of a wound than he thought.

"Hansel and Gret-, you know what, I'm not even going to explain it to you. How long do you think it'll take the others to find us? They better have gotten my walkman back." Quill sits up to notice that there's nowhere to go unless they either swim, which is a definite no, or climb which is a hell no for Peter because of his leg, and hopes that the man chasing them doesn't come back while absentmindedly feeling the empty place on his hip where he carries his cassette player.

"I don't know. They knew we took off this way. As long as they didn't run into any trouble getting back to the Milano with the stone, it shouldn't take them long. Guy practically leveled the trees with his weapon so it should be easy to follow our path. I mean, learn how to shoot, asshole!," Rocket starts to ramble.

"You do realize that if he could shoot, he would have killed us and probably ate us."

"Well, at least you wouldn't have pushed me off a cliff."

"Okay, I think we've established that I already made up for that."

"Yeah, yeah," Rocket waves him off, and begins rubbing at his back.

Quill notices and remembers the gash below his shoulder he had seen when they were in the water. "You okay?"

Rocket stops rubbing at his back to nod his head dismissively and Peter returns the gesture, but continues to keep an eye on him.

They fall into a comfortable silence that lingers for a few minutes until Quill says, "You know, if I didn't have a hole in my leg, I could teach you how to swim while we wait." His only response is a good sized pebble hitting him in the side of the head.

However, little do they know that waiting is the last thing they can do.

* * *

AN: So, part two coming soon. Hope you'll stick around.


	2. Part Two

Still own what was mentioned previously and that's it.

* * *

**Friendship Spreads Worse Than Infection **

_Part Two: Up the Cliff, Down the River_

"So," Quill's voice rides out on a bored sigh as he tosses another rock into the lake in front of them. "How come you don't know how to swim? I thought raccoons were supposed to be good at it?"

Rocket's head turns only enough to glare out of the corner of his eye before he's back to digging up dirt with a stick. "Well, I guess the people who tinkered with me skipped over that part in the cybernetic raccoon manual."

Quill's eyes widen a bit as he chooses another rock to chuck across the water while muttering, "Could've done a bit more reading on the temper, too."

"What?"

"Ah, nothing," Peter frowns dismissively and scratches at his neck with his index finger. "Just wondering if the other guys will find us soon, it's been a couple of hours at least, and I can already feel the heat in my leg."

"What's that mean?" Rocket asks as he finally turns to look at Quill straight on.

"That infection is already starting to set in. Who knows what's in that water. I'll probably lose my leg before too long," Peter jests, but it's blanketed by a nervous laugh. "But, uh, I'm sure they'll get here before that happens."

There's a long silence that follows and if not for the water lapping on the shore, it would've been awkward, but Rocket eventually says, "Well, if not, I kept that prosthetic leg you stole from that guy in the Kyln."

Quill's not sure if he's serious or not but redirects before he allows himself to find out.

"You had a cut, too, on your back. How's it feel?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. No heat."

Quill nods after a disbelieving pause.

* * *

"_Cheer up, sleepy Jean. Oh, what can it mean-"_

"Ah, would you stop?," Rocket growls in Peter's general direction, and if it's not as annoyed as it usually would be, well it probably has something to do with the fact that Quill's sweating so much that it's starting to look like he went for another swim combined with the new shade of white his skin seems to be trying to patent.

"If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was say so. Do you know the song?" Quill questions from where he's laid out on the ground with his arms behind his head.

"Yes. Quill. I know the song. Do you know how I know?," Rocket responds, his voice just calm enough for Peter to know he's about to yell. "Because you've sang it for the past ten minutes!"

"Can you do me a favor and use your inside voice? I-"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but we're outside! Stranded outside actually, your fault, by the way-"

"Oh, here we go again! Would it kill you to just say thank you one time?," Peter asks as he takes an arm out from behind his head to swing it in frustration.

"I don't know, Quill. It might, because we've been out here for hours after you _'saved_' us," Rocket shouts back, this time getting to his feet. "Who knows when they'll find us, _if _they find us! And even then, your leg already looks like a dissected carcass-"

"Nice," Quill interjects sarcastically as he tracks Rocket's frantic pace.

"We won't even get into what the rest of you looks like, but you've already got an infection. I mean who jumps off a cliff and dies from an infection?"

Quill sits up suddenly, "Woah, woah! Who said anything about dying?"

"I mean break your neck, or hell, I almost drowned, but an infection?"

"Rocket, calm down."

"We have nothing to stop it, and we're just sitting here on our asses like those bag of dicks at the lab waiting to see what happens-"

"Rocket."

"You shouldn't have missed the shot. That creep that wants to eat us would be dead, we'd have the stone, and be safe and sound on the Milano. You shouldn't have let him shoot you either. You should've jumped sooner! We should've jumped sooner! I should've jumped sooner! If I had, he wouldn't have shot you and-"

"Rocket!" The panicking raccoon becomes rigid all except his heaving chest and blinks at Quill who shakes his head. "Nobody's dying, dude. It's just a scratch," and when he receives a bewildered glare, he corrects, "-a gash, but that's it. Come on, we've all had worse. And it's not your fault, alright?"

Rocket's shoulders deflate with a dismissive sigh as he makes his way back over to sit down, but Peter stops him. "One more thing."

"What?," Rocket asks, back to being his annoyed, angry self.

"I think we should probably carve your little speech into a rock or something, you know, just in case something did happen, that way the world would know that Rocket Raccoon does actually care."

If Rocket replies, it's hidden underneath a growl as he starts walking to the other side of the shore to get as far away from Quill as possible.

* * *

"Can I ask you question?"

Rocket gives up his task of trying to make his third catapult out of rocks and twigs in favor of looking at Quill from where he'd moved back over to sit beside him an hour earlier. "You spend your life around machines and weapons that are all used against you, you're eventually going to learn how they work so you can turn the tables," the raccoon supplies, because he's certain that Peter was going to inquire about his knack for making weapons out of anything given the fact that he'd been watching him build catapults for the past twenty minutes.

Quill nods his head as if indicating he's processed that bit of information and says, "Okay, but that wasn't my question."

"Oh," and Rocket rubs at his back before continuing to build his catapults.

Quill watches him, notices the way his face twitches and his ears move like he's trying to keep himself busy enough so that his mind doesn't wander and his hands don't stop working, and he wonders if his question will cause all of it to come to an end. "Were there others?"

Rocket's cheek flinches, and his fingers never lose their pace. "Other what?"

Quill swallows, "Others like you...in the lab?," and then he feels the inside of his mouth go dry at the sudden transfixion of his teammate.

"No," and it's stale like the air between them, so Quill throws another rock across the lake and watches it skip in hopes that Rocket will go back to fiddling with twigs and stones, but the raccoon watches the rock instead and adds, "Not like me."

The rock sinks and if Quill was into poetry, he'd admit his heart did too.

Rocket picks up one of his catapults with an inspective eye before tilting his paw enough so that it crashes to the ground with a shattering effect. He waits until the minuscule dust bowl clears from the debris and starts picking up the pieces with a different intention. "Can I ask you a question?," his voice wavers as if he doesn't really want to be speaking and the way his fingers fumble with the sticks tells Quill he's trying to get back to that place where his past doesn't exist.

"Uh," Peter drawls out just enough so that Rocket will have enough time to think of a question other than the one he's unsure if he wants to ask. "Sure."

Rocket piddles, and Quill looks away because it's almost an unveiled secret in itself and he feels guilty for uncovering it. "That song you kept singing earlier, why sing that one? It's just that I've heard you sing it before."

It takes him by surprise, but he does his best to hide it as he rounds up the explanation on his tongue. "My mom, she use to sing it whenever... well just when things were rough and all that- when she got sick."

Rocket swallows thickly and accidentally drops a twig. "There was this...other...being, I guess, I don't know, I never saw him- he didn't make it long, but they would operate on him and he would always start singing. I could hear him down the hall and when they'd bring him back to his cage, he'd always be singing the same song. I thought he was nuts, you know, like they just screwed with his brain. You remind me of him."

Quill forces a laugh, "Gee, thanks."

Rocket shrugs and rubs at his back again, "After a while, I realized that it was because he never let things bother him. He'd just sing that damn song and make the most of whatever life was given to him."

Quill just throws another rock.

* * *

Peter peaks one eye open from where he'd closed them some odd minutes before to check on Rocket. He'd noticed earlier that the raccoon looked like he was trying to hold his head up and wondered why he just didn't give it up and lay down. When he finds him sitting a few feet away, head bobbing up and down like a buoy he says, "Dude, just relax and lay back."

Rocket's neck struggles to straighten quick enough and the animal turns towards him, "I'm fine. Besides, you'll probably fall asleep and that guy will come back." It's not as harsh as anything Rocket has said previously and the way he slowly twists his body before rubbing at his back again, has Quill sitting up.

"What's wrong with your back?"

"Nothing."

"Then you've got a fetish for rubbing it then. Seriously, what is it?"

Rocket looks away from him in favor of the water, "It's just sore. I mean, I did get pushed off a cliff, not to mention that piece of rock that clipped me when we were being chased."

"Okay, well...don't keep it to yourself if that changes, alright?"

Rocket just nods.

* * *

He'd been gone all of what felt like ten minutes down the shore collecting other objects to build with in order to keep his mind off the growing pain in his back, and he'd left Quill laid out like he was sun bathing and talking about a time he found a set of female, Xandarian twins on his ship, so when he returns, he feels his heart plummet worse than an unknowing raccoon being pushed off a cliff at the sight of his teammate completely limp against the dirt with his skin clammy, and white.

"Quill?" He calls while letting his gathered objects roll out of his cradled arms. He hastily makes his way over and nudges the man's arm with his foot. "Hey! You awake?"

Peter's arms moves at the touch of Rocket's back paw, but other than that he doesn't respond. Rocket swallows thickly and grabs his arm this time with his hands and shakes him. "Quill? Hey, wake up!" But again, nothing happens, and Rocket feels like he's drowning once more. "No, no, no." he repeats until he finds a pulse at the side of Peter's neck. "Damn it, Quill! Wake up! You said it was just a gash, you wuss. Get up," and he's back to pulling on Quill's arm with more desperation than before.

The limb is deadweight in his hands and the realization has him dropping it in horror as he backs away with his breath catching in his throat. He tugs at the fur around his ears, frantically thinking and searching for a way out of this, but his mind races too fast to latch onto anything other than a sudden memory he's fought hard to forget.

"_We don't know what this could do to him. He could die."_

_The voice is distant, but clear in an otherwise distorted world and it takes all of two seconds to place it as belonging to one of the bastards operating on him as he feels the cool steel against the shaved skin of his back chill him. _

_It's in the shiver that he realizes he's properly and cruelly restrained from moving, but it doesn't stop him from trying as another voice says, "Well, we'll know soon enough. Round of drinks on me while we wait!" _

_Their footsteps fade away as his heart picks up the pace as the thought of being left to suffer and die alone while being watched like a player in a spectator sport causes his skin to rub raw around his restraints. _

He's drowning all over again as the memory ends, but this time it's in anxiety, fear, and guilt and it leaves a taste in his mouth much more repulsive than tainted water. He coughs and swallows to get it off his tongue and then he's trying to hold his breath so he doesn't inhale the odor again, but his chest begins to ache with the jerks of his frame and he suddenly feels too heavy for his own legs. He stumbles into the ground, barely managing to catch himself before his face collides with the dirt, but his small victory is taken away as a sharp pain shoots up his arm and races down his back like a bolt of lightning.

He twists painfully into the ground, grinding his teeth over the sound trying to escape his throat, but the movement makes the pain spread throughout his body like water splitting into fast-running rivulets. It takes an agonizing amount of seconds for him to come to a motionless heap on his side in order for the pain to turn dull and he lays there, stomach heaving in a silent whimpered pant as he does his best to gain his bearings back, but when he does, the world is no better of a place.

Quill still lays mere feet from him in a sickly, unconscious state and the similarity he feels to the assholes in the lab who looked on and waited to see what would become of him crushes him more than anything else.

He looks around in desperate hope that the galaxy isn't as unfair as he believes it to be, but there's no sign of the Milano anywhere and Quill needs help now - hell, Rocket needs help, and the only way to find it is to either swim, which he can't do, or climb back up the cliff and leave Quill by himself.

The risks are what he has to weigh, but it's the guilt that makes up his mind. He knows he'd rather feel guilty about doing something to save Quill, rather than not doing anything at all, but getting himself up off the ground takes a lot more than just willpower and his muscles shake to prove it.

The pain in his back is still present, but it's dull and undoubtedly manageable compared to what he's been through in the past, so he grinds his teeth against and staggers to his feet before making his way over to Quill.

* * *

If he's honest, there's an unmistakeable quiver in his hands as he reaches for the first protruded rock of the cliff, but there's an even unsteadier rhythm of his heart at the thought of backing down, so he begins the climb.

It's simple at first, even easy, knowing that it all comes down to climbing, but he's thirty-five feet from the ground with forty-five more feet to go when his left paw slips and he swings from his other until the momentum slams the right side of his body into the cliff causing the pain in his back to flare and his grip to completely disappear. He slides down against the cliff, jagged rocks catching his skin and slicing it as he scrambles to make purchase again. He does two feet into his descent, and it takes everything in him not to let go, because his back and side feels like it's being ground up in a garbage disposal and two claws of his right hand decide to give in and let go, leaving the other three to grate painfully against the rock, leaving scratches as they slip.

He wants to let go, wants the pain to go away because it's what he was born into. He's afraid, always has been, and it makes him angry. However, he doesn't want to be any of those things anymore, and his heart hammers at the realization that he only has to worry about being afraid because he's too scared to be mad, a feeling he only felt when picking up pieces of Groot after the battle with Ronan.

He presses his head into stone, mindful of his blood now staining the rocks, as he looks down to see Quill exactly where he left him. His breath is stolen again by another memory before he can close his eyes once more.

_It's the third night that Rocket wakes to the sound of the other lab experiment's singing through the wall that separates them. He growls in frustration and painfully rolls over in his cage to beat on the barrier. _

"_Shut the hell up with that!," he yells, but the thing doesn't skip a beat, never does._

_Rocket's never seen what he looks like, but he can tell by the sound of the voice it's a male and much older than what Rocket's been told he himself is. He rolls his eyes as he pictures an old, senile creature smiling as Rocket voices his displeasure. _

"_Why do you sing that song?," He opts to ask for the first time, and suddenly the singing stops._

"_No matter what they do, they cannot take away destiny." _

_Rocket groans, "That's exactly what they are doing. Lying about it to yourself in a song won't change that."_

"_They do things to us. We choose what they do for us."_

"_Just shut the hell up!"_

"_See. You choose that they cause you anger, that they cause you fear."_

"_They rip us apart and stick us back together, please tell me why you wouldn't be mad about it!"_

_The only response he receives is the man beginning to sing his song again. _

_Rocket pounds his fist into the wall. "What the hell does it mean anyway?," he asks, more for the fact that he can tolerate the man speaking over singing rather than wanting to know the answer._

"_It means I choose to be thankful over angry that I'm the one in here and not one of my kids, because I know that the pain is worth it, life moves forward."_

_Rocket waits a minute, mind attempting to process it before anger washes over him again, and hits the wall one last time. "That's bullshit."_

"_One day you will understand, when you're given the chance to experience what family is. You'll make the same choice."_

Rocket inhales greedily as the memory leaves him and he does his best to convince his mind that the lesson he's finally learned is wrong, but he looks down at Quill again and he stops trying to deceive himself.

He readjusts his grip, grinding his teeth once more against the pain in his back, and lets his eyes close. He exhales deeply like the tired engine of a train after it reaches its destination and begins whispering a song he had tried so hard to forget.

"I stuck my hat out.

I caught the raindrops."

He opens his eyes and looks down at Quill.

"I drank the water.

I felt my veins block."

And he's back to looking at the top of the cliff and reaching up for another rock. Pain is a hungry thief for his breath, but he safeguards it with desperation and continues to climb as he sings,

"I'm nearly sanctified.

I'm nearly broken.

I'm down the river.

I'm near the open. "

He feels his foot slip, but unlike last time, he holds tight and rides out the pain the jolt causes until he can continue moving.

"I stuck my hat out.

I caught the raindrops.

I drank the water.

I felt my veins block."

Oxygen leaves him in harsh breaths between the words and his muscles quiver with the tune as he pauses out of fear of slipping again due to exhaustion, but he chances a glance down at Quill who's grown relatively smaller since Rocket's managed to climb up sixty feet of eighty and he has to bury himself into the wall at the dizzying height. However, he manages to look back down at Peter after a few seconds and pick up the song again.

"I'm near the sanctified.

I'm near the broken."

And he begins climbing once more.

"I'm down the river.

I'm near the open."

He reaches up over the edge of the cliff in search of something to latch onto to pull himself up, but he comes up devastatingly empty and it almost sends him crashing back down to the ground, but he digs his nails into the dirt, ignoring the burning sensation underneath them as he heaves himself up over the side.

He melts into the ground, sprawled out like he's back on the operating table, only this time he laughs joyfully and finishes the song while doing so.

"I'm down the river,

to where I'm going."

And only after he catches his breath and curses and thanks that stupid, yet brilliant, son of a bitch for singing that song, does he manage to painfully pull himself up from the ground and head back into the trees in search of help.

* * *

Quill groans as he rolls over to work the kinks out of his back from where he had laid on uneven ground. He sits up wearily, feeling shaky even doing that, and rubs at his head. He scrunches his face up at the sweat that comes back on his hand before giving into a shake of chills from the fever he's all too aware of.

He glances down at his leg and pokes the reddened flesh around the wound while suppressing a wince. "I hope you were serious about keeping the leg. I might need it after all," he calls to Rocket and only when he doesn't get a response does he look up from his leg in search of the raccoon.

He doesn't see him anywhere and yells for him, scanning the shore and fearfully the surface of the water, but comes up empty.

"Rocket!"

He scrambles to his feet, though it's a weary attempt. He manages it, but he stumbles and he hears the sounds of sticks breaking under his feet. He steps back and looks down to see one of Rocket's catapults crushed in the middle of his footprint in the dirt, but he notices something else, too.

A rock much larger than any he had been skipping across the water earlier in the day, was among the wreckage and it looks like it has something on it. Bending down, he picks it up and turns it in his hands to a sight that leaves his heart in a panic.

Carved in jagged lines, it reads: Up. Went for help.

He cranes his neck back in order to look in the direction written on the stone and he scans the edge of the cliff so quickly it leaves him dizzy again, but he pays no mind as he pockets the rock and makes to walk over to the base of the cliff. However, once he puts his full weight on his injured leg, he crumples to the ground as pain shoots through it.

A curse squeezes between his clenched teeth and he fists the dirt to ride out the throbbing of the wound. It takes searing seconds, but once he convinces himself that he's had worse, he hobbles to the cliff and scans it in search of something he isn't sure of until he finds it, but then he wishes he hadn't. There, painting the stone like a stained glass mural is a trail of blood leading up to the top of the cliff. Quill picks up a rock and throws it in hopes that the image will shatter, but it doesn't, so he yells instead.

"Rocket!"

However, his teammate is gone, and the panic it causes in his chest spreads worse than the infection in his leg.

* * *

AN: Third and final part coming soon. Still sticking around for it?

*Song lyrics belong to Needtobreathe's More Heart, Less Attack (but for the sake of the story they belong to the old geezer that drove Rocket crazy but ended up helping him in a way).


	3. Part Three

Just a quick apology for making you wait forever, because the only thing that will really make up for it is to finish the story. Sorry!

* * *

Friendship Spreads Worse Than Infection

_Part 3: Help Him, My Little Star-Lord_

"_Peter?," a soft voice inquires and then sings his name once more, "Peter."_

_Quill wiggles deep into the cushions of the couch as if he can fall between them enough so that sleep will whisk him far away from a world of chores, homework, and mothers trying to wake him. _

"_Well, that's a shame, because Star-Lord would never ignore something so important," his mother calls from just above him and curiosity peels one of his eyelids open to see her kneeling down beside the piece of furniture he's sprawled out on. _

"_Your grandfather needs help repairing the fence-"_

"_Ah, Mom, I don't want to. He's just going to talk about when he was kid the whole time and it's annoying," he groans and turns his face back into the couch._

"_He's just trying to spend time with you. He may not know what to say or do, but at least he's trying. Besides, if you want to be Star-Lord, you're going to have to learn how to help others. I mean, you can't really be a hero if you just sleep all the time, can you?" _

"_I don't know, I'll let you know when I wake up," he giggles playfully and buries himself further down in the cushions for show, but his comfort is disturbed in seconds as his mother tickles his sides._

"_How about you tell me after you help your grandfather or I just sit here and tickle you?" She counters as she moves to tickle his back, but she has to stop in order to catch him as he leaps from the couch. She hugs him close as he squirms._

"_Mom," Peter drags out. "Let me go."_

"_Are you going to go help him?"_

"_Ugh," he grounds out, trying to maintain his defiance even though he's biting back a laugh. _

"_Please? If not for him, or for Star-Lord's reputation, then for your mother? It's important to me."_

_He stills for a millisecond at the hint of seriousness in her voice and blinks at her as she smiles forcefully at him before hugging him tighter and tickling him once more. "So, what's it going to be?"_

"_Yes, yes. I'll help him! Now, let me go," he chuckles and darts out of her arms as soon as she loosens them. _

_He has every intention of running out to the backyard to meet up with his grandfather as he's running towards the porch door, but suddenly the walls shift and the exit disappears, along with the familiarity of the fond memory. _

_Quill turns sharply to look at his mother who still stands behind him with a fond look on her face. "M-mom?"_

"_Help him, my little Star-Lord."_

"_I...I can't. The door? It's.. gone! I-"_

"_Find another way. Help him."_

_The walls start morphing and twisting into a tiny box and he tries to back away from it all, but it's squeezing down on him and he has nowhere to go. He glances back at his mother, but she appears to be fading. He tries to take a step forward to help her, to save her, but she holds a hand out to stop him. _

"_Not me, Peter. Him. Help him." _

"_Mom!" He yells as she fades to merely an ashy silhouette._

"_Help him, Star-Lord!," she yells and then she's gone. _

_Peter tries to fill his lungs, but he starts coughing instead and..._

-jerks awake. The jolt pains him, but he's too disoriented to care as he tries to place where he is. He feels wet, completely soaked actually, and when it feels like water suddenly inches up his waist, he blinks his vision clear to look down.

He's laying face down on the shore, but waist deep in the lake and when the burning pain in his leg flares like the grand finale of Fourth of July fireworks on his home planet, he scrambles up and limps out of the water to collapse his entire body on the dry shore.

He calms his breath while trying to find something in his body that still functions right. He's surprised it's his mind that gives him the victory as he's reminded of the excruciating and exhausting swim he'd taken to find another way up over the cliff since he couldn't climb it.

He debates whether his brain is, in fact, working correctly considering he purposefully got back in the water that's left him in the shape he's in now, but the organ displays the image of Rocket's blood on the cliff and whispers that he's still missing, before flickering to the dream he had.

_Help him. _

But damn it, if it doesn't piss him off, because he's hurt and sure as shit sick, and for God sakes, he needs help, too, and he screams just that at the world around him, but in his own echo he can still hear his mother say,_ "Peter, if you want to be Star-Lord, you're going to have to learn how to help others." _

He drops his head back onto the ground, wincing at the small, jagged rocks that poke his scalp, and fists his eyes angrily. "I am Star-Lord! But he did it to himself! I told him they'd come," and he fists his eyes even more when his brain reminds him that he may not have been that reassuring before, "He shouldn't have left! He left me alone, defenseless! Why should I have to go after him? I mean, damn it, what if I hadn't woken up," and his screams reverberate around him as he lets that last statement sink in. "What if I hadn't woken up," he asks to himself in a whisper, letting his fists drop onto his chest. He blinks at the sky.

"_At least he's trying,"_ his mother's voice whispers and he closes his eyes to savor the sound of her soothing voice. _"You can't be a hero if your sleeping all the time. Help him, my little Star-Lord. It's important to me."_

So, Star-Lord pulls his ass off the ground and against every screaming fiber of his body, he goes in search of Rocket.

* * *

His stomach sinks with the sun as the afternoon begins to disappear in order for the night sky to paint the spaces between the canopy of the trees. With his head hung low and legs shaking enough that he can temporarily forget about the pain in his back, Rocket leans against a tree and for a moment he lets himself believe that it's Groot.

"Quill's an asshole," he mutters as he slides down the bark to sit down. "Don't defend him, he pushed me off a cliff. Twice!" Rocket's ears fall back as he pushes air through his nose. "I had to leave him. He wasn't waking up...I couldn't just sit there," he trails off and rests his head back on the trunk with his eyes closed. "I don't know. I thought I could...but maybe not, maybe I-," but Rocket stops abruptly in his mumbling at the sound of twigs snapping and leaves rustling.

"I think it came from over here! I hope it's the pretty boy," a deep voice chuckles from somewhere to the left of Rocket and the raccoon jumps at the noise so violently he can't help but gasp at the pain that radiates through his back.

"I want the vermin. I'm gonna gut him and stuff him," another voice replies before Rocket can get up from the ground, but the response has him on his feet quicker than he would have thought possible. He makes to run, but his legs give out two steps in and his heart picks up the pace instead. His head darts around painfully on his neck looking for a way to escape and like deja vu, all he can fathom is up.

He leaves scratches in the bark as his claws scrape against the trunk as he clambers his way up and he feels his spine grind like the skin of the tree underneath his desperate feet.

He makes purchase on the first branch. Then, the second and third, but he slips on the fourth and falls back down to the second with a sickening crack as he lands on his side. He barely manages to choke down the scream building in his throat and it burns in his lungs as he grinds his teeth hard enough his gums start to bleed.

Footfalls beat in the brief spaces of silence in between the blood rushing in his ears and he curls around the branch to become as motionless as possible as the man who had chased them off the cliff appears underneath the tree with another grotesque looking hunter.

He can almost feel the branch vibrate with the thunderous motion of his heart against the wood and he buries the side of his face into it in hopes of stilling it.

"It came from around here, I know it did."

"Suckers are pretty quick, let's look on down."

Rocket watches them disappear into the trees again, but he remains locked onto the branch, unable to move.

* * *

For every item he's taken...stolen...ravaged, Quill's sure he's said three curses for each one by the time he has to stop and sit down on a rock. He stretches his leg out which he decided two miles back didn't hurt as much and now as he rests, he decides to take it as a positive despite the numbing sensation tingling in it, because everything else he comes up with is a negative. It's dark as shit, which he's stated several times in various tones and he's fairly certain that the rock he's sitting on is the one he pissed on an hour ago, but damn it if his leg doesn't feel better.

He groans and lets the palm of his hand soak the moisture off his forehead before wiping it on his shirt, but it doesn't feel like enough. He opts for wiping his forehead down the length of his arm and finally feels like he has dry skin somewhere on his face again, but he stops in his small victory in favor of noticing a rather large, brown bug crawling up beside him on the rock.

Its ascent is slow, almost hypnotizing, but for whatever reason, it suddenly stops and seems to look to its left, then to its right before stopping in the direction of Peter. Chalk it up to fever, exhaustion, or even Quill's personality deep down inside, but the man offers the bug a ridiculous grin with one side of his mouth and asks, "You haven't seen an enraged raccoon go by have you? No? Well, that makes two of us. Bastard left me to die, I should just forget it," Quill blinks at the motionless insect next to him, then averts his eyes while bobbing his head in guilty way. "Okay, he didn't leave me to die, but he did leave and he's hurt which is...kind of my fault and if something more happens to him well, that'll be on me too. I mean, it's not that I'm worried about him. The asshole has made it perfectly clear he can take care of himself, I just-" Peter trails off as the bug suddenly begins to continue its journey on the rock and disappears in a silent bored way. "Right," Peter sighs and stands up to continue on his own course.

* * *

He manages to make it a half of a mile before he starts to contemplate stopping again. Not because his leg hurts, but because his breath sounds harsh and wheezy. The only thing is, he feels relatively fine other than being slightly out of breath and when he stops, he fills his lungs with an easy breath before pushing it out quickly through his parted, chapped lips. However, the sound still remains.

He closes his mouth, and breathes shortly through his nose as he listens for it and when his ears catch it they raise slightly in the direction above him. He tilts his head back slowly, but not before a nervous swallow, and is met with the sight of the black of night tucked in between trees branches.

He takes one cautious step backwards, unsure of what else besides Rocket could be hiding up there, and squats down to pick up a long, thick stick. He curls his fingers around it like a baseball bat, taking one more step back, and whispers, "Rocket?"

The sound hitches but otherwise remains the same. "Rocket? That you," he calls a bit louder this time and receives another hitch before a small whine.

It's not familiarity that pushes him forward, but the feeling in his stomach at the thought of the possibility that Rocket could make such a sound. He stands under the branch, just near the trunk where a small strand of light from one of the moons breaks between the branches and illuminates a bushy, ringed tail.

"Um...Rocket?"

"If you...p-poke me with that...I'll sc-scratch your eyes out," a stuttering wheeze replies while the ringed tail curls up near the branch as if afraid to let it dangle.

Quill feels something in his stomach stammer as Rocket's voice does the same, but he curls his fingers around the branch in his hands until his knuckles crack so that he can ignore it for just a moment longer. "Poke you? Seriously? I was thinking of beating the shit out of you! You could've gotten yourself killed, and more importantly, me killed! What were you thinking? And what the hell are you doing in a tree?"

"N-not becoming a plush toy for one," Rocket sounds like he's trying to ground the words out between his teeth, but the response is airy and almost disappears with the rustling of the leaves in a slight breeze that blows by.

"A plush-... Rocket, come down from there. Did you see those guys again?"

"Yes," Rocket says, this time the words are harsh as Peter watches his dark silhouette unravel from the branch.

"Are you-," but Quill's inquiry is cut off as Rocket gasps and slips from the branch. In a split second, Peter drops his stick in favor of catching the falling raccoon, but as soon as the animal lands in his arms, he's down to his knees as not only the added weight tweaks his injured leg, but Rocket is yelling and nipping at him with barred teeth as if Peter was the one who wanted to turn him into a stuffed doll.

"Woah, woah! The hell Rocket? Take it easy!" Quill fights to be heard above his friend as he tries to be as gentle as possible while dumping the animal on the ground.

Rocket doesn't respond to Quill's voice, but when his fur is in the dirt, he squirms and curls amongst the forrest floor until he's tucked up against the tree trunk between its long extending roots, face buried into a small hollow at the base.

Peter stares with wide eyes, taking in the fact that only one side of Rocket's body shows the effort of loud pants being muffled by bark. Standing, he grimaces as the raccoon's body jerks and curls at the sound of a stick breaking underneath his foot, but continues to close the small gap between them and bends down once more, mindful of his injured leg. "Rocket? Hey, come on," he says, extending a careful hand until it rests gently on the raccoon's back. The minuscule jerk underneath his fingers doesn't hurt him nearly as much as the previous reaction and he tries to offer a smile as Rocket unburies his head to look at him with cloudy eyes. "Easy, bud. You alright?"

"I-"

"He's perfect," a sickening voice comes from behind them, and despite the pain he knows it will cause Rocket, Peter tightens his grip on him and brings him protectively to his chest.

* * *

He does his best to tuck himself around the small, injured creature in his arms as he's shoved into a cage. His leg bursts with pain when he stumbles, causing him to fall onto his side with a curse spilling from his lips and a what would later be denied whimper from Rocket's, but this pain is a lot better than the previous feeling of being patted down in search of weapons or an Infinity Stone by the captors.

"Don't get too cozy, ya hear? We'll be back shortly," the man from the forrest grins as he shuts the door. Sitting up, he pulls his injured friend with him, keeping him close, and despite the loud clicking sound of the lock being slid into place, it's the violent jerk that Rocket gives that makes Peter feel sick.

_He's strapped to the table again, and surrounded by a silence that only makes his heart race as he listens for the dreaded footfalls to break it. They echo and filter through the air like an imagined alarm clock until it's loud and undeniable beside him, followed by the soft, cutting clinks of sterilized instruments being placed on a tray. A man appears above him, preparing to put him under so that he can wake up with a feeling as close to the one that children have on Christmas morning as he's ever going to get. However, another man appears above him and thinks that even that harsh reality is something his experiment doesn't deserve. "No. He needs to be awake for this." _

_He doesn't have time to swallow before the sharp blade on a knife is imbedded in his side and all he can do is scream. It pierces him, worse than anything he's ever felt and somewhere along the way his voice gives out, leaving his mouth open and teeth barred, in a silent plea to a dark abyss. However, for the first time there's something answering him. something soft, and calm, and for a moment he believes it to be that old bastard singing down the hall, but there's no melody to whatever is being spoken, just a reassuring repetition that Rocket's been denied knowing all of his life. _

"Shh, shhh, Rocket, hush. _Please,_ be quite," Peter whispers, holding the raccoon up under his chin and softly petting the fur on his back that's farthest away from his injury. The animal in his arms suddenly becomes still, harsh cries and whimpers dying down to something Peter doesn't even want to acknowledge, but he continues his mantra hoping that whatever it is dies out too. Eventually it does, and a warm,wet nose is pulled away from his neck. He looks down, meets cloudy eyes of a raccoon he feels like he's never seen. "Heyyy, buddy," he whispers, wondering if Rocket thinks him a stranger as well.

"I...I'm not...not him. I can't. I'm...not...they did this...I..I can be mad," Rocket says, nails digging into the front of Peter's jacket, the stains of his past making rips in the present. "Don't...don't let them...I don't want this."

Peter blinks at him, unsure exactly what Rocket means, but knows that it has something to do with the bolts he can feel on his friend's back. The next time he reaches up to pet the animal's back, he avoids any metal, fingers running over the parts that could allow Rocket to feel comfort. "I won't," he says, making more of a promise than he ever has in his life. "Whatever it is, Rocket, I won't let them."

He pulls Rocket back to him, tucks the warm nose back to the fevered skin of his own neck, and despite knowing he's not well enough to fight their captors off, he still promises again, "I won't let them hurt you," before becoming face to face with his mother again.

"_Help him, my little Star-Lord," she says, her hand ghosting down the side of his face, curling under his chin until she fingers Rocket's ear. _

"I'm trying, Mom, but what if I can't?" He pants, slumping sideways as he tries to lean into her touch.

"_Find another way, Peter. It's important to me."_

"Why?" He asks, pushing his head against the wall holding him up in a seated position.

"_Because he, too, thinks you are a hero, my little Star-Lord. Prove to him there are much better things to be."_

"Like...like what?"

He feels her hands on the side of his face again, cold lips pressed to his temple. He feels them curl into a smile before she leans away. He hand trails down, leaving a chill across him before it rests on his own covering Rocket's back. _"A friend, Peter."_

* * *

AN: I'm aiming for one more final update to complete the story. I mean Rocket may or may not learn about Hansel and Gretel, require a surgery that Quill can't stomach, and somewhere along the way they have to be rescued, don't they? Hope you'll stick around! Let me know what you think.

Also, I'm trying to start a small, little blog from my author name on Tumblr just as a way to indulge in conversation about all the fandoms I like. If you want, follow me at djdangerlove-ffwriter on Tumblr to share the love of fandoms together. It'd mean a lot if you helped me get started, because I'm fairly new to Tumblr in general.


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